


What the Dawn Will Bring

by zesulin



Series: The Doubting Apostate Flees [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: It's like....just at the start of inquisition and will probably phase into it, Multi, Nonbinary Anders, Post-Dragon Age II, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Red Lyrium, Trans Fenris, more characters as we go along - Freeform, there will be more ships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4343795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zesulin/pseuds/zesulin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirkwall was a mess.<br/>Which, of course, had been established years previously. The city had burned, and Knight-Commander had gone mad, Hawke had yelled, a lot, mages had been freed; Templars, much to Justice's joy, had had their brains scrambled thoroughly. A great time, all things considered. A younger, more reckless side of Anders, buried deep inside, had managed to note that it could have been a lot worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What the Dawn Will Bring

**Author's Note:**

> Hi so this took me a grand total of a million years to write and I'm still not entirely sure where this is going, but we'll see. Beta would be greatly appreciated, and also comments!! I really need those.  
> This is only loosely related to [Ache](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3833692), and does not require reading that one. Just know that Anders and Fenris are trans as hell. This work isn't one doesn't exactly focus on it the same way that the last one did, though. I'm trying to actually have a big cool plot this time, ooooh. 
> 
> Let me know if I should continue this one

Kirkwall was a mess.

Which, of course, had been established years previously. The city had burned, and Knight-Commander had gone mad, Hawke had yelled, a lot, mages had been freed; Templars, much to Justice's joy, had had their brains scrambled thoroughly. A great time, all things considered. A younger, more reckless side of Anders, buried deep inside, had managed to note that it could have been a lot worse. Part of him still thought that, despite the grey hairs starting to sneak their way into his rose-blonde hair and show up, unwelcome, amongst his stubble. A younger him would have also bemoaned this. Now, he supposed, it was all part of it. All part of the Plan To Disappear, which, considering, he'd done very well thus far (despite his initial -- and Justice's continued -- displeasure).

The downside, of course, was having to be a hermit, and fight off bears on a semi-regular basis. 

It was a quiet life, but not the kind that a younger him would have liked. Being a wanted criminal generally meant having to lay low and limit connections-- which meant that he and Hawke could rarely see each other, much to both of their chagrin, and most others rarely (read: never) visited. In the course of the last three and a half years, he'd seen his companions a grand total of maybe four times, in various arrangements, notable players (read: Fenris) missing for obvious reasons. Going in, he hadn't expected acceptance; it was the price paid for freedom. 

So, of course, a knock on his door late one evening was rather...well, alarming. Then again, it was less a knock and more the sound of something hitting the door in a rather sack-of-potatoes manner. Or like a body being dumped in a rather unseemly fashion.

Anders paused mid-stitch in mending his pants (again), quirking a wary eyebrow and offering a glance in the direction of the door. All was quiet for a moment, only the sound of the spring peepers and the crackle of his small fire marking the passage of time. At length, there was a weak scratching noise, followed by a grunt outside, and Anders stood slowly, setting his mending aside. Peculiar. Usually he was given some warning about visitors-- and in the case of templars...well, if it were templars, the door would already be splintered halfway across the room.

"Hello?" he called, cautiously, reaching for warm threads of magic that streamed through his veins and pooled in his hand, a familiar and comforting heat. There was none but a grunt from outside the door. Well, he supposed, definitely not templars at this point. Maybe a drunken Dalish wandered off too far. Nonetheless, he proceeded carefully, creeping up upon the door....

....And nearly jumped a mile when he heard his name grit out through the door by a familiar voice-- rough, angry, and admittedly, a little bit nasally. It was fainter now, weakened somehow. Enough to make a healer worry. 

Anders opened the door a moment later, wincing as it squealed in rusted hinges, and the sounds of the night filtered in. In the low light, Anders could make out a crumpled, elven form outlined by soft blue light eminating from delicate tattoos. It took a moment for Anders to register what exactly was wrong-- The elf, while bruised and altogether quite battered, appeared to be holding up. However, as the mage took the image of him in, he noted a strange, orange light mingling with the blue, peeking out from under tattered armor-- there, but only in fractals, insidious. It was all too familiar. 

Fenris. Red lyrium.

He worried his lip, staring down into the tired, red-rimmed eyes of the heap of elf upon his doorstep-- considering, he ought to help, and soon. The elf interrupted him with a croak before he could do anything.  
"I do not have the energy to stand. I will need your assistance." Well, there it was. 

 

With some effort, and much discomfort on Fenris' side of things, Anders managed to carry the elf to a spare cot in a corner of his shack, one reserved for rare guests-- it had fallen into disrepair and was badly stained, but still stood enough to bear weight. In the light, it was more apparent that Fenris was not in a good way-- partially closed cuts and bruises marred his skin, waxy and pale, illuminated by dimly glowing markings. Anders had certainly seen him shake off worse, though it was peculiar that the markings were glowing. 

"I'm glad you managed to stumble your way here," Anders said after a long moment, getting up from his place at the end of the cot, groaning when his knees popped. He pressed his hand to the small of his back, stretching. "Might have been eaten by wild dogs, otherwise." Fenris only grunted in reply as Anders began to scrounge for a healing potion in a chest, bottles of other tonics and potions clinking together as he did so. "No need to sound so happy. In any case--Ah...!-- what has you in this direction?" the mage paused, brows furrowing. "I imagine Hawke has something to do with it?" 

"...Yes." Figures. 

"You can tell her I'm not in the business of traipsing about anymore. Technically, I've been dead for nearly four years." the mage said with a touch of bitterness seeping into his tone.  
"If you like the world the way it is," Fenris continued, sounding equally as bitter, though far more tired, "You will...listen." 

Anders tightened his jaw as he unraveled a skien of bandage, shooting a glance at the crumpled elf. "...Not now. You need bandaging and rest before you deliver any messages." 

"It is urgent."

"You're injured and you look exhausted. It would also appear you're...contaminated. Rest first." Kneeling beside Fenris, Anders passed him the flask of healing potion, and then set to work bandaging what lacerations there were. The elf did not protest as he would have years previously, though the mage inadvertently touched skin and scars as he worked; No doubt exhaustion had something to do with it. 

 

By the time Anders had finished doing what he could without the use of magic, the elf had drifted off into a fitful sleep, eyes moving under fluttering lids, mouth pressed into a grim line, even in repose. He was not in a good way, and the red lyrium slowly threading through his markings, seeping into him was no comfort. At the very least, this area was clear of the stuff, and hopefully it would do him well to be away. The question was, how had he come into contact with the stuff, and where was Hawke? Why had Fenris, of all people, been sent to retrieve him? It didn't rest well, and it didn't make any sense. In the back of his mind, Justice stirred, whispering nothing but poor omens that he didn't care listen to-- the ill news this evening had drained what little energy from the day he had left, leaving him exhausted, but too paranoid to rest easily.  
He slunk back to his bed with the fire smoldering, embers offering meager heat to the small hut. It was hours before sleep claimed him, worries still plaguing him even as his unconscious mind drifted into the realm of the Fade.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear to god I'll come up with cooler chapter names


End file.
